


Rob Me Blind

by chronicallyHaughty



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Civilian Tim Drake, Janet Drake is alive, M/M, timdamiweek, timdamiweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-05 12:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12794136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicallyHaughty/pseuds/chronicallyHaughty
Summary: Bruce Waynewasthe Batman, and Timwouldfind the evidence to prove it, no matter what. Even if that meant seducing his youngest son.





	Rob Me Blind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for TimDami Week, Day 3: Civillian!Tim. Title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaMixtNVO8M) lovely song. _Come on and steal a kiss, rob me blind~!_ Unbeta'd.

“Mr. Drake? Your three o'clock has arrived.”

Tim looked up from his laptop. His…? Oh. _Right_.

“Ah. Thank you, Ms. Fox.” He reached for his cup, only to realise it was empty. He had done the very same thing five times the last hour. Tam raised a perfectly shaped brow at him and he coughed sheepishly.

“If you could, uh, have a tray sent in for us? Thanks.” Damn, why was he so nervous? This was a personal matter, and wouldn’t risk the company _at all_ as long as he didn’t mess this conversation up beyond all belief. No biggie. He swallowed, loosened his tie some, and closed his computer.

He was just getting to his feet when Damian Wayne entered. He was taller than Tim, that one was hard not to notice immediately, and very muscular, even for the hobbyist athlete he claimed to be. His hand was scarred and callused when he gripped it in a shake. Tim met his eyes and smiled pleasantly.

“Mr. Wayne, so glad you could make it.”

Tim would bet every last penny he owned that this man was Robin.

—————

“So,” Tim began once they were seated by the panoramic windows, a tray carrying coffee, cream, and sugar on a side table nearby. He had quickly realised that unlike his father the youngest Wayne had little patience for small talk. He tried a disarming smile. Damian’s eyes narrowed minutely. Sheesh, tough crowd. “As I understand it you are currently one of the big brains at Wayne Enterprises’ research and development section?”

“That is correct,” he answered without a trace of modesty.

“And you’re… in contact with Batman? Not you personally, I assume, but your company?” Tim could read nothing in Damian’s body language, and was impressed rather than discouraged. He was more certain than ever of his deduction. Of course _Robin_ wouldn’t let anything slip so easily.

“Indeed. Get to your point, Mr. Drake.”

“Of course.” Tim cleared his throat. “This is about a personal project of mine, not related to Drake industries at all, in fact. In what little spare time I have, you know how it is, well, I’m toying with the coding of an app that would function as an alert system for civilians here in Gotham, so that they could stay on top of and better avoid villainous… deeds… etcetera.” He grimaced and flapped his hand awkwardly, as if to wave away his uncertain babbling. He thought he could see Damian’s mouth twitch as though fighting down a smile. He had been going for suave rather than endearing, but as long as it worked…

“A noble goal. And why do you tell _me_ of this?” Tim mentally braced himself and poked at a potential weak spot.

“I figured you’d be more interested in this sort of thing than your father. He has, hm, other concerns, after all.” Ah, there it was. Barely noticeable, but definitely a tightening of the shoulders.

“Such as running a company as well as multiple charities and outreach programs, you mean?” Damian replied, eyes boring into Tim’s, and there was definitely steel in his voice now.

“Yes, exactly!” Tim noted the loyalty down in his mental file for Damian Wayne. “Besides, what I wanted to ask wouldn’t be anything too strenuous, really. I was wondering if maybe you could get a message to Batman about my idea, and ask if he might be interested in somehow helping with the information flow?”

He glanced at his watch as Damian thought it over without breaking their eye contact. Almost time…

“Mr. Drake?” He startled at the sudden knock, but Damian didn’t. Tim felt a shiver run down his spine under Damian’s intense, unbroken gaze. Those green eyes sure were something else.

“Yes?” He turned to face his door as Tam popped her head in.

“Ms. Drake wants you to head to her office right away,” she said, as he had gotten her to promise to do that morning.

“It can’t wait?” Tim asked in exasperation, shooting Damian an apologetic grimace.

“No, sir,” Tam’s eyes were accusing but she played her role admirably. “She specified right away.”

“Oh, well,” Tim sighed. “Say, is this something you’d be willing to discuss further? Over dinner, perhaps?”

He put on his best smile, and ignored Tam’s surprised cough disguising her laugh. Damian blinked, and in a particularly obvious show of emotion, _blushed_.

“I, yes, I suppose I am amenable,” he stuttered out, eyes wide. _Pretty_ , Tim thought. He grinned wider.

“ _Great_. How about Friday night? Here, take my card. Text me your preferred restaurant.”

He walked Damian to the elevator in silence before heading toward his mother’s office.

“Tim? Did you need something, baby?” Janet Drake looked up from shuffling papers at her desk when Tim entered.

“Mom, can you please not call me that while we’re at work?” She just smiled at him, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “And no, I just needed you as an alibi. Thanks!”

“You better not be up to anything, Timmy!” she called after him as he left, to which he just waved in response. He ignored Tam waggling her eyebrows at him as he made it back to his office. Let her think he just wanted Damian for sex, if that was what she wanted to believe.

That had gone well, he considered as he got back to reading reports from one of Drake Industries’ subsidiaries. He had piqued Damian’s interest, and that meant he was one step closer to the Wayne family, and to destroying any doubts and figuring out the _truth_. Tim’s stomach sank when he thought about the kid.

Damian had been the most obvious target, what with his recent coming out as well as his relative youth. Tim winced. Even in his own mind he sounded like some sort of tacky super villain. Hopefully he would manage to extract himself from the relationship once he got the proof he needed, without any Bat being the wiser and before any hearts got broken.

Bruce Wayne _was_ the Batman. And Tim _would_ find the evidence to prove it, no matter what.

—————

Friday night arrived with little fanfare. He told Tam he was leaving early and got a saucy wink and a ‘be safe’ for his trouble. He checked and double-checked his reflection in the elevator mirror on his way down to the garage, fussing a little. He was nervous again.

When he had first come up with this plan, it had been at the tail end of a four-day insomnia run. He had woken up on his couch the next morning to a terrible headache and a kitchen table overflowing with notes detailing all the reasons Bruce Wayne _must_ be Batman. Right on top of the haphazard pile was a bright pink post-it with ‘seduction!’ written in all caps and underlined.

He hadn’t taken the day off work, but his mind had been on the pile of papers for several hours before his mother, concerned, had sent him home early anyway. When he got home he had gone to clean up the mess, sorting and considering his scribbles as he went. The more he read the more certain he became: he had stumbled onto something.

The post-it note he’d put aside, placed in the throw-away-pile, but his mind had lingered on it. It was a ridiculous idea. Stupid. Hare-brained. Never going to work. _Unless_ … And now here he stood, readying himself for a date with Damian Wayne, youngest and only biological son of the man who was probably Batman.

He had picked his car carefully that morning. Granted, he only owned three, and yes he was aware of how asshole-ish that sounded, but he did want to make an impression. Not that he owned anything quite as impressive as the famous Batmobile. He leaned his forehead against the cool elevator mirror for a beat, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

This night simply had to succeed, or else he’d be back at square one. Now that he’d thought of it his mind was stuck on this Bat-idea, and Tim knew from experience that it wouldn’t let go until he solved the mystery. Introspection-slash-pep talk done, he straightened up just in time for the elevator to ding as it reached the garage floor.

They had agreed to meet at the restaurant in question, one Damian had suggested over a short, stilted text conversation. In direct contrast to his infamously gregarious father, Damian seemed almost awkward when it came to social interaction. One of the few things the public did know about the Bat was that he was a man of few words, but Bruce Wayne stood in stark contrast to that with his affable nature. A masterful performance, surely, but as interesting as it was to contemplate the differences between Bruce and the Batman, he was currently about to face the man’s son.

Tim had decided against taking the expensive Ferrari his mother had gotten him for his twenty-fifth birthday, since he didn’t want to seem like he was trying too hard. Had dating been this difficult the last time he did it? Thinking back, that had been in college – before he had realised school was slowly killing him and dropped out to pursue a job at the company instead – a few months of dating a girl who had ended up punching him in the face so hard he had actually passed out. An entirely deserved punch, granted, and Stephanie remained one of his best friends, but perhaps not a stellar example of Tim’s dateability.

And so, ten minutes early, he parked his _comparatively_ modest black Mercedes-Benz Roadster outside the restaurant, a place known for its good range of vegetarian options. Once he headed inside the maitre’d informed him that his company had already arrived and steered him up a floor toward a table by the window where, indeed, Damian Wayne was seated.

He was sitting with his back to the wall, but he was leaning his chin on one fist, looking out at the people passing by below. Though it looked casual, his eyes were tracking every motion. His suit was clearly bespoke and fit him like a glove. He looked very handsome tonight.

As the maitre’d closed in on the table he looked up and those green eyes were still absolutely stunning. Tim felt another twinge of guilt. No, he was going to handle this gracefully and no one would have to get hurt. He would find out, beyond a doubt, that he was right and Bruce Wayne was the Batman and then extricate himself as smoothly and swiftly as possible. No problem.

Damian looked up at their approach and made as though to get up but he paused and sat back down, a faint flush to his cheeks. Had he been about to pull out Tim’s chair? Tim was charmed against his will. He smothered his smile – before Damian could interpret it as mockery – and sat down, accepting the menu, nodding at the maitre’d as the man left.

“Good evening, Damian.” He smiled and got a smile in return.

The distrust seemed to have lessened, but not the tension. Perhaps he was nervous? This thought eased Tim’s own nervousness some, but he was still at a loss for what to say now that they were face to face. This wasn’t a business dinner, no, those he could do. He couldn’t afford to doubt now, though. It was too late for that.

“Good evening… Timothy.”

A slight hesitation at the name, as though perhaps he had not yet earned the privilege to refer to him with that degree of familiarity? Or perhaps, knowing Damian Wayne, as though Tim hadn’t yet deserved to be referred to that way. Tim suddenly wondered about Damian’s mother. It was a secret kept from even the most persistent gossip rags Gotham had to offer.

Damian had simply appeared over a decade ago, along with a heartwarming story about how Bruce hadn’t known about his existence but was now welcoming him with open arms. The relation to Bruce was undeniable, Damian took after his father in many ways, but that skin, those eyes? Definitely not Bruce. Who was she? What kind of hand had she had in shaping the strange man in front of him?

Said man was giving him a lopsided smile, which – while sincere – was a bit awkward. Robin never smiled, and Damian Wayne certainly didn’t do it often either. Tim grinned back, determined to put Damian at ease. This didn’t have to be unpleasant at all, for either of them. As long as Tim managed to play his cards right Damian would never even know he had been used. No, none of that now. _Focus, Tim_.

The conversation started off stilted, but after they had ordered their food the bat-signal lit up the cloudy night sky. That was the icebreaker they needed to get into an easy back-and-forth, in part concerning the app they were formally there to discuss, but mostly they ended up discussing the city’s nightly protectors. Damian had many opinions when it came to that topic, as it turned out, and the conversation carried on throughout the meal.

“I’m just saying,” Tim teased, twisting some pasta onto his fork and grinning at Damian across the table. “The scale panties are a classic look, you know?”

“Preposterous,” Damian scoffed. “I’m sure I haven’t the slightest idea why Robin was ever allowed outside in those, those _undergarments_.”

“Are you for real?” Tim couldn’t help but laugh at Damian’s look of vague affront. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s way more charming than it has any right to be, but sometimes you open your mouth and something almost _Shakespearean_ comes out, I swear.”

Damian didn’t quite manage to hide his pleased smile behind his glass as he took a sip, and Tim could swear his face was reddening. His own face felt a bit warm, as well. Had he really just called Damian charming? Out loud?

“Are you charmed, Timothy?” Damian asked, green eyes pretty much glittering in the candlelight. Tim suddenly couldn’t seem to find his tongue. Damian gave a low laugh that made Tim’s toes curl in his shoes, just a little bit, and went back to his meal.

Tim found his tongue (it was in his mouth all along!), and managed to steer the conversation back to the app as that suddenly seemed like the safest topic. Where had _that_ charm come from? Maybe it wasn’t just _Damian’s_ heart Tim should worry about. As dinner wound down and Tim ordered an espresso, he went on to ask the question he had asked on every first date he’d ever been on.

“Now, the most important question of all.” Tim leaned back in his chair and looked Damian in the eye. “Who would win in a fight: Batman or Superman?”

Damian didn’t even hesitate.

“Batman.”

“Damn right,” the waiter added as he put down the bill, drawing a laugh out of Tim and a smirk from Damian. Gothamites definitely harbored a fierce loyalty to their Bats.

“ _Unless_ ,” Damian added after a thoughtful pause. “Wonder Woman turns up to make them stop fighting.”

“Okay, that’s fair,” Tim conceded, chugging down the coffee. “Do you have a ride, or can I offer you one?”

“I could call for a car?” Damian said, but with a lilt at the end that made the statement a question.

“It would be no trouble to drive you, I promise.” Tim smiled at Damian, who hesitated for a second before giving him a nod.

“You may drive me to my apartment.”

After a brief argument they agreed to split the bill. Once they got outside and Tim’s car was brought around, Tim felt briefly put out when Damian didn’t seem that impressed with it. Maybe he should have taken the Ferrari after all? _Too late now_. Damian gave him his address, and Tim started driving.

It was a quiet night, bat-signal notwithstanding. They didn’t talk, but the silence was comfortable. Tim caught Damian looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and met his gaze at the next red light. Damian gave him that lopsided smile again, and Tim was smiling back before he even realised he was doing so.

Soon they arrived at Damian’s address, and as Tim put his car in park he realised he was loath to let the evening end already. He hadn’t expected to have such a good time. He cleared his throat, hands staying on the wheel and eyes focusing on the car parked in front of him so as to not do something foolish, like make a move too early in the game.

“So, I hope you’ll get a message to Batman about the app.”

“I will. Timothy?” Against his better judgement, Tim let go of the wheel and turned around in his seat to face Damian. He saw his look of determination, and Damian’s hand reached for him. Tim’s eyes fluttered closed involuntarily at the warmth emanating from Damian’s skin, the callused hand oh-so-gently cupping his face. He heard the rustle of clothing shifting and sensed Damian coming closer, heard the click and felt the sensation of his seatbelt being unfastened. Heard and felt the rumble of another, “ _Timothy_.”

“ _Yes_.” Permission, as much as an answer. Damian kissed him then, and Tim was lost.

Plan? What plan? If the plan involved kisses like this he would be very much on board, but right now Tim’s brain was offline, running the risk of forgetting his own name. A soft mouth moving with such surety over his own, both their hands grabbing at fabric, skin, hair, _anything_. The kiss wasn’t fast and not quite slow, but it was _thorough_. Like Damian was learning everything he could about Tim through this one kiss alone. Like it was the only one he’d ever get to have.

Tim pulled away, gasping for breath. Damian was breathing heavy, looking at him with those eyes, his hands resting on the back of Tim’s neck. Fingers playing with the hairs there, making Tim shudder.

“That went a little fa– mm.”

Damian kissed him again, and oh god, curse him to hell and back but Tim was helpless to resist kissing back. He managed to drag himself away again, and when Damian tried to follow, this time Tim put his fingers on his mouth with a laugh. Damian grinned at him, cheeks flushed and eyes all pupil, and Tim almost gave in. He swayed in place before finding his resolve.

“Alright, slow down. More of that and I’ll start hoping you’ll invite me upstairs,” Tim joked weakly, sure that his eyes were betraying him. Damian gently clasped Tim’s wrist, bringing his hand down and freeing his mouth.

“Would you like to?” he asked bluntly, and Tim groaned, closing his eyes at the images his brain created at that insinuation.

“Oh boy, would I _ever_.” Damian grinned at him again and Tim deserved a medal because it was such a damn effort to force his next words out. “But no. I just, I want to take this slow. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Timothy. I take no offense,” Damian murmured, kissing his hand and making Tim lose track of what they were talking about for a second.

“Ah, good, you shouldn’t. Shit, I really want to. But slow, slow is good, right?”

“Yes, it is.” Damian’s voice was dripping with sinful promise and _why_ had Tim expected him to be inexperienced again? Also why not just say ‘fuck it’ to the plan and go ahead and–

Oh right, _the plan_. Through a truly Herculean effort Tim pulled away completely. From that distance it was obvious that Damian was affected, too. Pupils blown wide, mouth kiss-bruised, hair and clothes a little mussed up… Yeah, the burning _want_ Tim was feeling was definitely mutual. A beat passed, before Damian shook himself awake from the hazy dream-like feeling permeating the car.

“Good night, Timothy,” Damian smiled as he opened the door on his side.

“Good night, Damian,” Tim managed to get out as Damian exited the car.

He watched Damian disappear into the lobby of the building, glass doors darkened to hinder people from looking in. He allowed himself to sit in the car for exactly one minute before shaking off the last of the lingering bliss and starting the car, making his way back to his own apartment. The plan hadn’t accounted for Tim actually _liking_ Damian.

—————

Almost two months went past. They texted each other a lot during that time, talking about everything and nothing, with Damian having loosened up considerably after their date. He wasn’t even signing his texts with his name anymore, something Tim proudly took full credit for. They were both very busy men, however, and thus had no time to spare for another date. In fact, close to the two-month-line Damian told Tim over text that he might be a bit hard to reach for a while, as he was going on a business trip. That was the same night Blackgate Prison had a breakout. Tim felt a small stab of discomfort reading that text.

 _The plan_ , his brain whispered to him. _Fuck off_ , he whispered back. He was already ninety-nine percent sure about Bruce Wayne being Batman, Damian being Robin, etcetera. He didn’t need anything more. He just needed Damian.

He was looking over things for a meeting when he got the texts. Part of him wished he hadn’t turned on the news when Ives had written to him, several times and in all caps, to do so immediately. Wished that he’d gone back to focus on the work he needed to do, postponing the inevitable. Ignorance was, after all, bliss. But Ives wouldn’t text him that frantically for _nothing_. He turned on the TV, and at once it felt like the floor was dropping beneath him, like he was in a fifty-story free fall.

They had gotten the attack on camera. One moment Robin was a whirlwind of metal, staff moving too quickly for the smartphone camera to keep up, the next he was staggering back, what looks like the handle of a fucking _butcher knife_ sticking out from his stomach. Tim felt dizzy, on the verge of throwing up, watching Nightwing and Black Bat descend upon the bad guys and Batgirl rushing to Robin’s side just as he collapsed onto the ground.

He called Damian several times that night, but no one ever picked up.

—————

 _You have: three new messages_.

“Hi, it’s Tim. I saw the news and, uh, I just wanted to say that I know. That you got hurt. It looked bad, really fucking bad, enough that… maybe you won’t even be able to listen to this, _shit–_ ”

_Beep!_

_You have: two more messages_.

“Hi, it’s Tim again. If someone is listening to this could you please just let me know what’s going on? Is Damian alright? It, it looked _really_ bad. Please get back to me. Thanks.”

_Beep!_

_You have: one more message._

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this. I just wanted to know for sure. I swear I’m not interested in telling anyone, I just wanted to _know_. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. Please, just. Please. Tell me he’s going to be okay, _someone_. Please.”

 _No more messages_.

—————

Tim let himself into his apartment, mind running at top speed but unable to stick to any one thought. He had barely been able to get anything done at the office today, and his mom had been giving him worried glances throughout the meeting before trying to send him home as soon as it concluded. He had insisted on staying, however, not wanting to be all alone in his apartment right then.

Tam had patted him on the back once he finally left for the evening and half-heartedly joked about bat-healing. Tim appreciated the thought, but he couldn’t stop his mind from running a mile a minute. Damian Wayne wasn’t in any hospital, as far as Tim had been able to tell, but that had been a serious wound. What if… He hadn’t had anxiety attacks in years but he was pretty sure one was coming on.

He flipped the lights on in his living room and screamed.

Batgirl laughed at him from her perch on his couch. The Red Hood was sitting next to her, a presence that would normally be cause for concern even with his recent affiliation with the Bats, but now all Tim could feel once he had recovered from the shock was anxiousness. Why were they here?

“Over _twenty_ calls,” Red Hood deadpanned at him, and Batgirl snorted out another laugh.

“You’re an ass, Timmy. But I told him that from the start, and yet he persisted,” Batgirl teased with a grin.

Tim relaxed a bit at that. This didn’t _seem_ like a delivery of bad news, as such. If it had been Batgirl probably wouldn’t have been grinning at him like that. Did she just call him _Timmy_? That was awful familiar of her, but then again maybe he should focus on the fact that these were two actual, bonafide Bats, and they were chilling in his living room. Tim suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Uh. I’m… sorry?”

The Hood tilted in a way that seemed contemplative.

“I don’t think he _knows_ you, BG.”

The voice was filtered through a voice modulator, coming out electronic and gravelly, but Tim thought Red Hood might have a naturally deep voice. He unconsciously straightened his back. Up until very recently the Red Hood had been considered an enemy to the Bats, as well as a danger to the public. The guy had been up to some bad shit, and Tim had been as surprised as anyone when reports started coming in that the guy had started wearing a Bat-symbol.

“I know Robin, the current one as well as the first and second ones. I know who Batman is. Nightwing, and Black Bat,” Tim listed off. “The former Batgirl,” he added with a nod at the current one. She was blonde and her suit had purple details, as opposed to the sleek black and yellow of Barbara Gordon’s suit.

Had Tim been younger and had more free time, he would’ve enjoyed running around taking pictures of these new Bats. Maybe he could’ve figured the Bats’ identities out without risking hurting a sweet boy like Damian. But after his dad had died, his mother had taken a more active role in his life and his nightly photography escapades had been over. Tim missed the freedom of the rooftops more than he had realised.

Batgirl looked at him for a moment before seeming to deflate. She gave a deep sigh, and before Tim even had time to realise what was happening she reached up to pull her cowl back, revealing,

“Steph? Stephanie Brown? _You’re_ Batgirl?!”

Steph, one of his best friends and for a short time girlfriend back in college, grinned back at him.

“Surprise!” she sang, adding jazzhands for extra drama.

Tim just gaped for a second, trying to puzzle it all together, and it _fit_ , it _made sense_ , but wait!

“Wait, you told him _what_ about me!?” She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to answer but Tim remembered himself and interrupted. “Forget that! Is he okay?”

“Case in point…” Steph muttered with a glance at the Red Hood who gave a robotic chuckle from where he was still lounging on Tim’s couch. “To answer your question, not right now, he ain’t. But he will be.”

“Can I see him?” Tim barely even waited for her to finish talking, feeling the anxiety attack simmer in the back of his mind. He caught himself wringing his hands anxiously.

“If you’re willing to go through the Bat first, yeah,” Hood butted in, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his muscled thighs. Tim swallowed down his nervousness. “He’s not exactly happy with you at the moment.”

“I’m willing to risk it,” Tim said determinedly. He had to see Damian, to know he would be alright. Even if everyone would be pissed at Tim for having used him, he would brave their anger to touch Damian, even if it was only once, just to make _sure_ he was still alive.

“Oh, right, before I forget!” Steph chirped brightly, her grin widening until it was more a show of teeth than anything else. Tim felt a familiar sense of dread. “You had better come up with a _really_ good apology to Dami… or I’ll have to skin you alive.”

Another robotic chuckle, this one sending chills down Tim’s spine. No wonder baddies peed their pants when Red Hood came for them, the man was _terrifying_.

“Guess I’ll have to get in line, then,” he drawled, getting to his feet. _Tall_. _Very tall, and big_. Tim had no doubts the Bat creed wouldn’t allow for anyone murdering him, but the Red Hood was unpredictable as fuck, and if Tim wasn’t so worried over his (ex?) boyfriend he’d be scared shitless right about now.

Tim silently begged to anyone who was listening that the ‘ex’ part wasn’t true. He had spent so much time talking with Damian and had fallen hard, and it seemed like Damian liked him too. It was as simple and as complicated as that. Tim didn’t want to lose him before what they had could even begin.

“Can we go now?” he asked.

Steph and Red Hood exchanged a glance. Red Hood shrugged, and Batgirl tugged her cowl back up, turning to Tim.

“Sure.”

—————

Tim hadn’t been to Wayne Manor in years, not since before his father had died. It felt surreal, coming up the driveway in Steph’s familiar old beat up pick-up truck. Just like they used to drive around in college, only tonight Steph was dressed as Batgirl because that was apparently what she did at this time of day, and the Red Hood, scourge of the underworld, was checking twitter in the backseat. They got out of the car and Hood waltzed right up to the front doors, throwing them open. Tim remembered the man waiting within.

The last time Tim had been to stately Wayne Manor had been at some boring gala, and once he couldn’t stand staying another minute in the ballroom he had followed the trail of waiters back to the kitchen where he had planned to stuff his face with pastries when no one was looking. Alfred Pennyworth, the household butler, had apparently practically raised _the Batman_ ; Tim had gotten maybe three feet before the butler had caught him. He had let Tim stay in the kitchen for hours, watching the cooks prepare food. It was a fond memory.

“Ah, young Mister Drake. It’s been quite some time.” Apparently the old man remembered him, as well.

“Mr. Pennyworth, it’s good to see you again.” Tim tried for a smile and hoped it didn’t come off as a grimace. They were all ushered inside, and when Red Hood and Stephanie both took off their shoes Tim followed suit.

“Quite.” His eyes were kind, and seemed to hide a sharp intellect. Tim liked him immediately. “You are here to see young Master Damian, I presume?”

“Yes! Yes. Ah, does he know I’m coming?” The anxiety flared back up. Would Damian hate him on sight? Tell him to get lost and never talk to him again?

“Someone probably told him by now,” Red Hood said with a shrug. It didn’t seem like this would be a drawn out agony, Tim supposed.

Steph clapped his shoulder and steered him toward the regal staircase curving up toward the second floor. As Tim glanced over his shoulder he saw the Red Hood take off his helmet and walking deeper into the mansion together with the butler. He didn’t turn his head and Tim tamped town his brief disappointment.

“Just out of curiosity, would you ever have told me?” Tim took the moment of privacy to ask Steph one of the many questions he had.

“Probably not,” Stephanie replied after a beat. “You were just a college friend, you know? Wouldn’t want you dragged into this mess. Like, most supers are pretty stingy with their secret id’s, but Bats are the worst of the bunch.”

“Makes sense.” Tim tried not to be hurt. After all, wouldn’t he do the same? If he was some sort of hero, and a villain figured out his identity, they could come for his loved ones. Tim swallowed down his discomfort at that thought with some difficulty.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Bruce Wayne met them. He was standing in front of a door as though guarding it, his arms across his chest and his face an impassive mask. A far cry from Brucie tripping out of his limousine every other month. Tim’s feet felt suddenly glued to the plush carpet.

“Welp, good luck!” Steph gave him another hearty pat on the shoulder, and then she fled back down the stairs, leaving him alone with a pissed off Batman, the traitor.

That is, Tim assumed he was pissed, and he assumed he was facing Batman rather than Bruce Wayne. Something about his general presence told him that he was now having a stare down with the Batman. Which was seriously _so cool_ , except for the whole ‘Tim hurt his son and would now have to pay the price’ thing.

“Do I talk first or you talk first? I talk first?” Tim blurted when he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” Batman said in lieu of an answer.

“Full name, huh? I guess I really _am_ in trouble.” Tim honestly couldn’t help himself at this point. He had reached the state where snarking was his way of defending himself, as well as his only means of keeping the panic at bay.

“Why. Are you. _Here_.” Batman growled at him like he was a two-bit villain.

“I’m here to see Damian?” It came out as a question, and Tim privately cursed himself. Showing weakness at this point was the worst possible option, the opposite of what Tim needed to do at this juncture.

“Why?” Blunt and to the point, and Tim’s anxiety over whether or not Damian was okay won over the anxiety over facing down Batman in a match of wills.

“Uh, because he was fucking _stabbed_? And I worried myself sick over him?” Tim could now check ‘swear to Batman’s face’ off the bucket list. “Listen, can we do the Spanish Inquisition schtick after I’ve seen he’s still alive, please?”

The door Batman was standing in front of opened abruptly and Tim thought it would hit him, but he neatly sidestepped it without breaking eye contact with Tim.

“Yeah, B, cut the kid some slack,” the man entering the hallway said, coaxing. Tim couldn’t look away from Batman’s glare now. If this was a test Tim _would_ pass it.

“Dick,” Batman said, still maintaining eye contact with Tim. Suddenly Dick Grayson stepped between them, arms splayed and effectively breaking up the staring contest, if it had been one. Tim subtly rubbed at his watering eyes while Batman was distracted.

“Just let the kid see him,” Dick cajoled. “Damian wants him to come in and talk.”

At the mention of Damian’s wants Bruce seemed to deflate, and yes, he was visibly Bruce again, rather than Batman. It was such a clear shift in how he held himself that if Tim was the paranoid sort he would start to worry over who else could be expertly hiding a secret nighttime gig in his vicinity.

 _If my mom was moonlighting as Batwoman I would_ know, Tim tried to convince himself.

Dick spun around on his heel and flashed Tim that famous movie star grin, the one that got reporters and starlets alike weak at the knees. He stepped aside and, with a flourish, motioned Tim inside the room he had just stepped out of.

“Go ahead, Tim.”

Tim entered without a backwards glance, and the door was closed behind him.

The first thing that hit him was how quiet the room was, in that particular hospital kind of way Tim had become accustomed to during the months his dad had been in a coma. In the middle of the room was a hospital bed, and in it, raised up until nearly sitting, Damian was awake. A plush chair stood beside the bed and there was various medical machinery stationed around it, attached to the patient. A blanket covered his midsection, hiding any bandaging from Tim’s eyes. There was a very large dog laying down beside the bed, and when Tim entered it lifted its head to look at him before Damian murmured a, “ _Down_ , Titus,” and the dog laid its head back down with a deep sigh.

Damian looked… okay. Tim had been braced for blood everywhere, Damian barely hanging onto life, some sort of countdown to his inevitable end… This in spite of Steph and Red Hood and everyone else’s attitudes implying that he was out of the woods, and well on his way to a full recovery. Instead, a sketch book laid open on Damian’s lap, a half finished drawing of some sort of bird of prey on display. Damian’s eyes were clear from any painkillers, and in fact he looked like he could step out of bed at any moment.

“I take it the business trip didn’t go so well.” _Fuck_. How insensitive could Tim possibly _be_?

Damian just blinked at him for a beat, another… before barking a laugh. He immediately winced and clutched at his middle as his laughter put strain on the wound. When he looked up at Tim, who was in the process of reaching for him in a panic, he was grinning.

“You have to admit, businessmen can be every bit as rough as any blade-wielding thug Gotham has to offer,” Damian rejoined.

Tim couldn’t help but laugh, even as he sagged into the chair next to Damian’s bed, hands coming up to rub his face, trying to force the stress down. Damian was _okay_. When he removed his hands Tim’s eyes ended up meeting Damian’s once more. He was smiling softly at him. Tim reached out to grab Damian’s hand entirely on instinct, and Damian met him halfway. It made Tim smile as he linked their fingers together.

“Did you get my messages?” Tim asked.

“Only after… someone else had already listened to them. I suppose someone fetched you?” Damian asked, clearly avoiding using any sort of name. Tim winced.

“Steph, yeah. Man, was _that_ one a surprise,” he laughed, self-consciously.

“Oh? And here I thought you had us all figured out.” Damian shot him a look, not quite accusing, but all the same Tim felt shame hit him like a freight train.

“Damian, I am so sorry. What I did to you was wrong. If there’s anything I can do for you, just name it.”

“Another date. Your treat,” Damian said with a serious face, before breaking into a small smile. “Joking aside, I was hurt at first. But I came to realise something, as I had time to think things over.”

“What was that?” Tim leaned forward in his seat.

“I realised that your desire for me was far from faked,” Damian murmured, thumb gently stroking the inside of Tim’s wrist. The shudder hit him out of nowhere, surprising him, but Tim didn’t think he could have stopped it if he’d tried. And then Damian gave him that _smirk_ again, the one that had nearly broken Tim’s resolve in the car only a few months ago.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tim breathed. When had he gotten so close? Those eyes, heavy lidded and gorgeous, seemed to be magnetic, drawing him in… The door slammed open, making both Tim and Damian jump, the latter grabbing for his side again, hissing a curse in a language Tim was unfamiliar with.

“Hey, Timbourine, you staying for dinner?” Tim turned to find a very large man, as powerfully built as Bruce with black hair with a peculiar white streak in the fringe, standing in the doorway. He was smirking in a way that was strangely familiar. He raised both eyebrows at them and clutched at his chest in faked shock. “Oh, my! You two better _not_ have been planning to _canoodle_ in here.”

“I do desire we may be better strangers,” Damian shot off without missing a beat, making the man in the doorway chuckle. Presumably this was the Red Hood.

“Feisty. Well? You staying or not?” This last part was aimed at Tim. _Where_ did he know this guy from? Surely he’d remember someone with hair that unique? Tim wanted to ask Damian about the man, try to find out where he could possibly recognize him from, but he couldn’t very well do it with the guy in question still in the room.

“If he wishes to stay, he will keep me company in here. Timothy?” The way Damian softened when addressing Tim made a soft, glowing warmth spread behind his breastbone. Meeting Damian’s eyes with a smile, he nodded his assent. “Very well. Inform Pennyworth, will you?”

“Sure thing, your highness,” the man said with an elegant bow, before turning to leave. The door was already swinging shut when Damian bit out,

“Be _gone_ , Todd.”

Tim nearly fell out of his chair in shock.

“ _Jason_ Todd?!”

**Author's Note:**

> And then they dated and canoodled and got married and Janet passed Talia a handkerchief during the emotional part of the ceremony and they became the best of friends and Tim and Dami adopted three more dogs and lived mostly happily ever after, The End!!!!!
> 
> This fic has a tumblr post [here](http://chronicallyhaughty.tumblr.com/post/168165162174/). That's my writing blog, but [this](http://nattvingen.tumblr.com/) is my main blog where I post a lot of DC stuff.


End file.
